A Caged Heart
by Lemonella
Summary: WIP 'Your great grandfather was neither my first love nor my last. I want to tell you about who was....' Hermione looked down at the dark diary in an almost tragic trance. 'I want to tell you about Draco Malfoy.'
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer__: The magical world of Harry Potter belongs to the one and only goddess of fantasy, J.K. Rowling. I own nothing but a Harry Potter towel and toothbrush._

_Author's Note__: I wrote this little prologue before the release of __Half-Blood Prince__ and had never intended to post it. Therefore, __A Caged Heart__ is not HBP- or DH-compatible._

A thousand thanks to a most invaluable beta: Nalaniekeala.

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Prologue

The old woman sat herself down on the rocking chair, humming the tune of a long forgotten song. The chair groaned faintly under the weight of her brittle bones. Her dark eyes stared into the fireplace that roared crimson before her, the dancing flames cloaking the old-fashioned sitting room in shimmering rays. Her face, like that of any other one-hundred-twenty-eight-year-old, was worn with wrinkles and shockingly pale. It remained expressionless while her eyes flickered with a trace of loss.

The steady beat of rain outside aroused a familiar feeling in her breasts. She sat alone in the quaint cottage, her home for the past twenty years or so. She and Winston had been divorced for about nine decades now. Her daughter, Molly, was closing in on a century herself, a strikingly strong witch with courage that would make Godric Gryffindor envious. She had watched Molly through her struggles from adolescence angst to mid-life crisis, and her daughter had made her chest swell with pride and cherish motherhood.

Hermione Granger sighed lightly as her thoughts rested upon her great-granddaughter, Samantha. At twenty-four, Samantha was Molly's only son's daughter. Hermione vividly remembered the Christmas when Samantha was born, holding her great-granddaughter while her own eyes transformed into leaky faucets. She also remembered the Christmas three years ago, watching Samantha laughing with her husband and appearing the happiest she had ever been.

Samantha had met Duncan at Hogwarts and the pair fell into the depths of love with a magical force. They married months after graduation and anyone who met the couple knew that they would last together forever. But all that changed when they entered their fifth year of marriage. Duncan was diagnosed with a rare blood disease and Hermione watched her once vivacious great-granddaughter sink into a deep depression.

It had been year since Duncan's death and Samantha still wore the empty, forlorn expression she had on the day of his funeral. Last week, when Hermione visited Samantha, she discovered a gaunt woman in a ragged bathrobe and dark circles around her eyes. Watching her, Hermione knew. She knew it was time to tell her great-granddaughter about her past…

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Her stiff, callused hands – callused from the years of magic making with her wand and writing with her traditional quills – gripped the coal black diary. Hermione had owned this diary for over a century, securing an unbreakable bond between the writings of the diary and the nerves of her heart. A lone tear escaped the corner of her left eye as she involuntarily fingered the silver locket circling her neck. She had worn this locket for almost as long as she had owned the diary. It was a simple necklace with an emerald heart that opened to reveal a picture; a sequence of diamonds sprinkled the heart to form a calligraphic _L_. Hermione had never taken it off, never once in the years she was married to Winston nor during the birth of Molly. It had not left her since the person who gave it to her had secured it around her neck.

Clamping her spidery fingers harder than ever against the binding of the diary, she waited for her great-granddaughter. Still rocking in the chair, Hermione carefully opened the front cover and pulled out the first envelope from the thick pile that lay in the diary. Setting the old book on her lap, she slipped out the paper that nestled in the envelope. Thinned and crisp, with the edges yellowed, Hermione's fingers held onto the page with dear life. _It still smells like him_, she thought, her lips forming a bittersweet smile. With the ink slight faded, Hermione began to read:

_Dear Hermione,_

_You know my difficulties with writing letters, let alone love ones. Please forgive me if I'm not clear enough, or if I sound like a prat. I know you said not to write letters and give myself away, but it hurts like hell not to._

_I know it's only been a week since I've last seen you, but to me it seems like months, years even. I arrived at the Death Eaters' camp the day we left Hogwarts. It was just like I imagined it would be…black tents, dark skies with not a single patch of blue, sandy, desert-like grounds. In short: hell. Voldemort's not here most of the time, which I must admit fares perfectly with me. But I won't depress you with what's going on here. _

_How are you? Though it pains me to say this, how's Potter and Weasley? Not a day, hour, or moment goes by with my mind not thinking of only you. I came here only for you, and the only thing that keeps me going is the fact that we'll be together…soon. Pardon me for sounding incredibly sappy, but last night, as I stood guarding the tents, I begin matching each star in the sky to something I love about you. Everything was going great, until I ran out of stars. _

_We both know I'll be here for a while. I'm not sure when I'll be back, but I hope to Merlin it's soon. I miss you more than anyone has ever missed another and I love you more than one can hope to love. Part of me wants to leave everything and come and be with you, but the other part of me remembers my promise to Dumbledore, to Severus, and to you. I will be back, I promise you that. And when I come back, the first thing we'll do is get married._

_With you, I learned to love…you taught me our differences mean nothing in the face of love and life. If only you knew how much I wish to see you, hold you, and kiss you once more. Never, ever forget how much I love you._

_Love, D._

Another tear fell from her eye as she finished reading. _One hundred and ten years_, she thought, pressing the letter to her chest. She placed the letter into the envelope and back into the diary. Hermione wanted to continue leafing through the rest of the letters and the entries of the diary, living through her past once more, but Samantha was to arrive any moment.

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Hermione eyelids parted thickly as a popping sound echoed in the room. Her eyes met the sticklike figure of her great-granddaughter, standing a few feet away from her. With Hermione's chocolate coloured eyes and bushy hair, Samantha looked like an almost replica of her great-grandmother when she was in her mid-twenties. Stepping forward, she produced a weak smile.

"How are you, Nana?" her gentle voice asked as she leaned in to hug Hermione.

"Better than most one-hundred-twenty-eight-year-olds," Hermione answered, affectionately patting Samantha's bony back. "Sit down," she added, pointing to the mahogany couch facing her.

Sitting herself down, Samantha looked at Hermione warily. She clasped her hands into a tight tangle and asked, "So, do you need anything Nana? Your Patronus sounded rather urgent."

Hermione smiled benignly. "I felt like talking to you, Sam. It seems as though we've stopped talking."

Samantha averted her face from her great-grandmother, failing to hide the conspicuous blemish of guilt. "That's not true, Nana. We talked just last week."

"Yes we talked. But we didn't _really talk_. It was just a mere exchange of weather-related topics," Hermione explained calmly.

Samantha glanced out of a broad window behind the couch. Rich burgundy curtains bordered the window, which displayed a fierce downpour of rain against a charcoal backdrop. "That reminds me. It's raining," she said somewhat lamely.

Hermione let out a small chuckle. After a slight pause, she looked at Samantha with woeful eyes. "How are you doing?"

Samantha looked surprised at her great-grandmother's question. "I - I'm fine."

Hermione shook her head and twisted the chain of her locket around her fingers once more.

"Are you ok, Nana?" Samantha's concerned voice cut in.

Hermione gave her a small nod and set her gaze on the diary lying on her lap. "I just - I need to tell you something, Sam."

Samantha stared at her, expressionless. "Not about Duncan. Nana, everyone wants to talk to me about him. I'm - I'm fine! I really am! I just — "

"No," Hermione professed, the lines in her face deepening with solemnity. "Not about Duncan. Not about you. It's about me…I want to tell you about my past. About what happened one hundred and ten years ago."

Samantha stared at Hermione blankly.

"About my first love, and how I lost him. About — " Hermione started before getting cut off by Samantha, who was shaking her head as her countenance darkened.

"No, Nana. You and Grandpa Winston are not like Duncan and I. Grandpa Winston and you divorced each other. You didn't love him. But I _love_ Duncan. And I always will. I lost him, Nana…he literally left me forever; not _divorced_ like the two of you, but Duncan _died_. You don't know what it's like to live and lose someone whom you love more than anything else in the world," Samantha finished shakily, her eyes shining with tears.

Hermione remained silent, her eyes wet as well. She gave Samantha a melancholy smile and finally spoke. "I was not going to talk about Winston."

An utterly baffled look crossed Samantha's tear-stained face.

"Your great-grandfather was neither my first love nor my last. I want to tell you about who was…" Hermione looked down at the dark diary in an almost tragic trance.

"I want to tell you about Draco Malfoy," she revealed at last.

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_Reviews, comments, and suggestions are most welcome!_


	2. Stars and Saviours

_A/N: I'm sure everyone has finished _the book_! If you haven't yet, what are you doing reading this petty fan fiction when Jo's masterpiece awaits you; go scurry along and devour _the book_. Anyone who'd like to discuss or share your thoughts on _the book_, feel free to PM or e-mail me. I myself have plenty to say… no spoilers here, I promise ;o) _

_A thousand thanks to a most invaluable beta: Nalaniekeala._

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Stars and Saviours

_The woman before her fell helplessly beside the immobile man on the slippery ground. Her strangled scream echoed through the dark, dank night. She clutched his hand frantically whilst crying his name, pure desperation ringing each syllable._

"_Linden! Wake up, Linden!"_

_The teenage girl watched the doleful scene play out, her own heart stricken with hopelessness. She struggled in vain to escape the strong hold of the Death Eater. _

"_Dad!" she called out, anguish dripping her voice._

_Drops of rain that tumbled to the earth seemed to drench her with inevitable fear. She grasped her wand with ferocity, but failed to move her wrist and cast a spell as the damned Death Eater clamped onto her arms with a vice-like grip._

_Suddenly, she heard the two words she was most fearful of at the moment._

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

_A flash of horrendous green shot straight at the man on the ground, killing him instantly. The woman let out another heart-wrenching sob that resonated down the desolate street. The Death Eater that performed the cold-blooded murder approached the girl, who was paralysed with horror._

"_My, my…such pretty eyes for a Mudblood. Alas, it is a pity you must die." His voice was mocking and cruel._

_The girl flinched from the Death Eater's touch upon her cheek. All words had abandoned her. Without warning, the robed man pointed his wand directly at the girl and hissed, "Imperio."_

_The other Death Eater that was grasping onto her released his hold. The girl swayed and pointed her wand towards the woman sobbing into the lifeless man's chest._

"_Crucio," she found herself uttering. The woman's body contorted with unimaginable pain, her limbs convulsing as if being struck repetitively by lightning._

The two Death Eaters began to laugh derisively. The girl was weeping uncontrollably, but could not move her wand. She tried to look away, but the Death Eaters made sure her gaze remained affixed on her dying mother.

When Hermione woke from her gruesome nightmare, the sole thought ringing through her head was "Not again! Not again!" She was shivering to the bones despite the heavy blanket cocooning her. Her eyes were bereft of tears, yet her insides were screaming in agony. Tears were such common occurrences during a war that after awhile they become as frivolous as rain in the monsoon season.

Hermione struggled to entangle herself from the blanket. She succeeded, and in a haze of sheer numbness, climbed out of bed. Being attacked by spasms, she made her way across the room with a gruelling pace. Her roommates remained sleeping as Hermione shut the door behind her with a click.

How she managed leaving her dormitory and walking through the corridors and out of the castle, Hermione could never remember. But she did, in her drastic state and all, and found herself kneeling at the edge of the lake.

Still dressed in her pyjamas, Hermione stared at her reflection in the rippling water. The winds whipped through the night with a vengeance. She stared long and hard at the eighteen-year-old girl in the water, a girl who once had vivid eyes hungry to discover the world, a fiery mind thirsty to drink up all knowledge, and a rapid tongue ready to fight for her beliefs and principles. Now, the shell of that lost soul was all that remained.

Hermione placed a hand on her chest; her heart was thudding from the long trek to the lake. If her heart could beat that quickly, why was it that she felt nothing? Why had all emotions failed her? Where did her pain, grief, rage, and even joy hide?

Hermione looked up. The sky above hung without the moon, only a vast ceiling of dappled stars provided the ethereal glow to light up the grounds. Her father had always told her: "I love you as much as there are stars in the sky, ma Cherie." The number of stars tonight seemed endless.

Unable to look at the starry attestation of love her father had had for her, Hermione tore her eyes from the sky. Her eyes fell upon the Forbidden Forest instead.

Completely oblivious to her movements or intentions, Hermione stood up and started walking towards the dense thicket of the forest. She moved past Hagrid's dark cabin and entered the forest, cutting through a string of sycamore trees. Following a short path for some time, unaware of the low-slung brambles and thorns snagging her pyjamas, Hermione came across an eerily quiet clearing.

The starlight overhead bathed the clearing in some pale light; the branches of the trees bordering the small space looked gnarly and menacing. As if being awaken from a trance, Hermione realised she was doing something very, very stupid. Suddenly, she heard a deep growl from behind her. Her heartbeat increasing with every short breath, Hermione turned around and came face to face with yet another nightmare.

It was a large creature the size of a rhinoceros with hide the colour of pale purple. Two awfully sharp, long horns protruded from his massive head. Baring teeth that would put lions to shame, the creature let out another growl. Remembering a distant Care of Magical Creatures lesson, Hermione whispered a single word with a sick stomach. "Graphorn."

She felt the pocket of her pyjamas. Her wand was still lying on her bedside table… _very_ stupid indeed.

The Graphorn noticed Hermione's slight motion to find her wand and lunged towards her like a predator bouncing on a helpless prey. A scream turned into a painful howl as the Graphorn's horns thrust into her left shoulder and she plunged to the ground. Digging into her bone, the horns were spikes of the crudest metal. The pain was greater than one's nerves could handle, and Hermione felt her eyes shutting and her world growing drowsy.

Finally, she felt something….

"Stupefy!" a male voice yelled as red light swamped Hermione's peripheral vision.

Pain gushed from her shoulder and shot through her arm and neck as the horns tore themselves out of her raw flesh. Her blurry eyes watched the Graphorn bare its yellow teeth to someone above her and position itself to jump once again. Before it could make its predatory leap, the warm voice shouted another curse and the Graphorn stumbled and fell at her feet.

Hermione remained lying on the floor of the forest, a sense of loss and victory battling in her chest as the pain in her shoulder continued to augment. She wanted to move her limbs and stand up to thank her saviour, but the pain thwarted her. Instead, she let out a groan.

She heard several quick movements and felt someone kneel beside her. A face began to come to focus despite her vague vision. Blond hair smoother than threads of silk and eyes of pure silver.

"Granger!"

She knew that voice… _no… no, it couldn't be_! Hermione groaned again, but not because of the ferocious pain. Because her saviour was none other than Draco Malfoy.

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_Stars and more stars_… that was the sight that welcomed Hermione when she finally opened her eyes. _An endless canopy of stars… her father… the forest… a Graphorn… her saviour… _Draco Malfoy! She tried to move but in vain. The pain that had consumed her shoulder was now a mere tingling sensation. Yet she could not move.

"Help!" Hermione called out. Once more she heard a shuffle of movements and a face appeared above her numb body.

"Granger, you'll be fine. I used a strong healing charm for your shoulder, but –" Draco Malfoy began to speak but fell short as soon as he caught the deathly glance on Hermione's face.

"_What did you do to me_?" Hermione spat out each word like drops of poison.

Malfoy looked simply dumbfounded. "Excuse me?"

Hermione struggled to get up but her arms and legs had become heavier than lead.

"Don't try to move! You will be under the effects of the spell for another hour or so," Malfoy explained, reaching towards her.

"Get away from me you _murderer_!" Hermione yelled.

Malfoy's arm stopped midway in the air, a pale colour staining his face.

"Don't touch me! You're the son of a murderer!" Hermione cried with absolute loathing.

Something flickered in his eyes akin to hurt. But before Hermione could detect his feelings, Malfoy put on his usual mask of spite and anger.

"How dare you, you bloody –" hastily stopping before any lines were crossed, Malfoy looked both mortified and wild with fury.

But Hermione had already crossed the line.

"You should be able to get up in about an hour," Malfoy mumbled after an awkward pause, harnessing control over his burning emotions with each short breath.

"I advise you to try and get some sleep." With those last words, his face disappeared and Hermione heard his footsteps fading away into the night.

He was leaving her paralysed in the middle of who-knows-where in the dangerous dark. Without a wand or her mind or body in check. Nonetheless, Hermione succumbed to the deepest depths of sleep minutes later.

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It was nearing dawn by the time Hermione awoke, the ashen skies tinged with mauve. She felt wholly calm and rested. The tranquil sound of rushing water soothed her head and a faint breeze caressed her face. _I can move my body!_ was one of the first thoughts that entered her mind.

She quickly sat up, flexing her arms and massaging her shoulder. Barely any trace of pain or even numbness remained. Releasing a contented sigh, she discovered her surroundings with awe.

The sound of water was coming from a stream twisting its way through towering pine trees littered here and there. The stream itself was quite narrow but snaked through the earth and over a hill no higher than Grawp standing tall. It was like a miniature waterfall with cascading sheets of glass. Grass flourished here because of the sparse number of trees that gave reign to the sun and skies overhead. Truly heavenly were the only words that came to mind.

Gawking in astonishment, Hermione wondered if she was still in the Forbidden Forest. Did such an idyllic speck of land exist in the dark and gloom of the forest? Her heart lurched swiftly when she thought up another explanation. Maybe she was dead and this was heaven….

That was when she noticed a blanket covering her. Where had it come from? Angels, perhaps or… Malfoy? Hermione stood up quickly. She was alive, of that she was sure. Her happiness and peace of mind started to dissipate as reality revealed itself. How was she to get back to Hogwarts? How deep into the forest, if this _was_ the Forbidden Forest, was she?

She began looking around restlessly when a figure sitting against one of the giant pine trees caught her eye. Sitting with his hands covering his face, Malfoy looked almost defeated. Hermione could not tell if he was sleeping or not; nevertheless, something twisted in her chest as she realised that he had not left her… _He had spent the entire night watching over her_.

With the blanket in her hands, Hermione took tentative steps towards Malfoy. "Malfoy?"

A single whisper of his name was all it took for Malfoy to start and get up with his wand readied defensively. When he noticed Hermione, he lowered his wand, his face entirely blank. He looked as if he was going to say something, but that moment vanished at once and he straightened up.

"We're not too far from the castle," were the only words he uttered before turning around and striding away.

Hermione took that as her cue to follow him.

He was right. It only took them about fifteen minutes to make their way through and around bushes and tree trunks before they arrived at the edge of the forest. All the way Hermione had felt a growing lump in her throat. A need to say something was gnawing away at her. She maintained a safe distance behind Malfoy, never walking abreast of him. Malfoy himself did not say another word, nor did he turn around to see if Hermione was keeping up.

As they reached the castle and entered the Entrance Hall, Malfoy abruptly stopped. He turned to face Hermione but did not meet her eyes. Clearing his throat and fixing his gaze on a point in the marble floor, Malfoy began to speak.

"I used the _Torpeo_ charm on your body before casting _Episkey Maxima_ on your shoulder to heal it. I assure you I did no harm." His voice was completely emotionless. He finally looked into her eyes. "I suggest you go see Madame Pomfrey to check your shoulder anyway." With a curt nod, he turned around and left the silent hall.

Hermione watched him leave, her hands still clutching the blanket.

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_Reviews, comments, and suggestions are most welcome!_


	3. A Muddled Mind

_A thousand thanks to a most invaluable beta: Nalaniekeala._

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A Muddled Mind

Hermione heeded Malfoy's advice, and began walking to the hospital wing with her head in a thoughtful haze. What had happened last night? She had had another one of her recurring nightmares, which led her to flee the castle and enter the confines of the Forbidden Forest. Owing to her own stupidity, she had been an inch from death, yet had been miraculously saved by Draco Malfoy… the boy who had taunted her continuously for the past six years, the boy who had threatened her friends and herself for years on end, the boy who had stood on the other side of the brewing war for almost a decade. The son of the Death Eater who had so ruthlessly murdered her parents and left her shattered.

She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, oblivious that the blanket, belonging to the boy who was now causing her so much mental distress, was pressed against her heart in hopes of consoling herself. She continued to mull over Malfoy's motives. Why had he saved her? Leaving her to die at the horns of the Graphorn would have been an advantageous move on his part, both increasing his status before Voldemort and weakening Harry.

By saving her life, Malfoy had broken the wall they had built over the years and was crossing the line that had thus far separated the two foes. In one night, Malfoy had destroyed the very picture Hermione had painted of him in her head: a picture of animosity, antipathy, arrogance, and prejudice. In mere hours, Malfoy had shown a side of him Hermione could never fathom, a side she could not even begin to explain.

Shaking her head as if to rid herself of all the perplexing questions that had no answers, Hermione entered the hospital wing. Only when she stepped into the room filled with empty beds, did Hermione realise the sun had yet to properly rise and that everyone was fast asleep. Including Madame Pomfrey.

Just as she turned around to leave the wing, Hermione heard an audible gasp behind her. Glancing back, she saw a stricken Madame Pomfrey with one hand over her mouth and the other pointing at her. At Hermione's shoulder in particular. Hermione followed her gaze and started at the state of her pyjamas. Her ordinarily white top was a dark shade of crimson. She touched the soft fabric only to find it hardened with her blood.

"Miss Granger! What – how – who – are you all right?" the matron sputtered, rushing towards Hermione to pull her over to a bed.

"I'm fine," Hermione managed to say, as Madame Pomfrey quickly removed her shirt and the blood that had crusted on her skin with two swishes of her wand. She hunched over to examine Hermione's shoulder, which bore a jagged scar.

"Merlin's beard!" the older woman cried.

Hermione winced. "I – I was injured last night while – um…." a blush suffused her cheeks.

Madame Pomfrey made a gesture that indicated she needed no false explanation. "Students! Despite our straining efforts to keep you safe, you take it upon yourselves to meet death in the face! However, I will not chastise, since the scar reveals excessive pain that serves as punishment itself. Graphorns are legendary for their razor-sharp horns, you know."

Hermione gawked at her incredulously. "How –"

Madame Pomfrey gave her a small, sly smile. "I haven't been a nurse for forty years for nothing. Now, let's see…." she pointed her wand at the scar, murmured incantations.

"_Episkey Maxima_ was cast," she murmured to herself. "Your shoulder must be throbbing, Miss Granger."

"No, actually, I don't feel a thing. Um – the _Torpeo _charm was used as well," Hermione admitted.

Madame Pomfrey looked at Hermione surprised. "The _Torpeo_ charm?" she echoed, eyes wide. "No wonder you feel no pain. So, who was it that found you – Professor Dumbledore or Professor Snape?" the older woman asked.

"Neither," Hermione answered with confusion.

Madame Pomfrey's eyes widened even further. "But, apart from me, only Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape know how to correctly execute the charm. It's a terribly difficult charm. They don't even teach it until one is in their fourth year at St. Mungo's Healer Program. I can't imagine a Hogwarts student even attempting to cast it properly."

"Well, it was a Hogwarts student who cast it," Hermione confessed. Something pushed her to tell the old matron. "Draco Malfoy."

Stark shock crossed Madame Pomfrey's features. "Draco Malfoy? He cast it… and on _you_?" the incredulity behind her words lay testament to the universal knowledge of Malfoy and Hermione's antagonism. She quickly composed herself and looked curiously at Hermione.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, of what you know about the _Torpeo_ charm."

After a slight hesitation, Hermione said, "_Torpeo_ means numb or inert in Latin, so I imagine it's a charm to numb or paralyse the body. Apart from that, I've never heard of the charm."

"You are right, Miss Granger. The _Torpeo_ charm does numb the body to repress physical pain. But part of the reason the charm is so difficult to carry out is because it takes an enormous toll on the caster, leaving him or her very weak for a couple of hours. It is not used very often for that reason, and for that fact that is doesn't help the wound or ailment," Madame Pomfrey paused, taking a deep breath, and continued. "It's only used when the caster wants to make sure the person he or she casts the _Torpeo_ charm on does not suffer or feel any pain."

She let the meaning of her explanation sink in for a minute, before excusing herself from a bewildered Hermione. She returned soon after with a small jar filled with a greenish paste.

"This," Madame Pomfrey began, handing the jar to Hermione, "is a salve that will make the scar slowly fade. It must be applied twice daily for a fortnight. This is all you need. The wound is fine. I suggest going back to your dormitory for another hour of sleep before class." She gave Hermione a knowing smile.

Hermione murmured a thank-you and started to walk away when Madame Pomfrey spoke again.

"I hope you've thanked Mr. Malfoy. The boy certainly deserves it."

Hermione froze for a moment, and left the hospital wing faster than her legs could carry her.

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The day trudged on with Hermione brooding incessantly on a subject she had never given much thought in the past: Draco Malfoy. Transfiguration and Ancient Runes passed without a single raise of her hand, though truth be told, her hand had barely risen twice a month into the term. Lunch passed in a silent, subdued mood, which had become the norm ever since the summer. Harry and Ginny would try to engage Hermione in a conversation while Ron would, in between stuffing his mouth, crack a joke in hopes of evoking a smile from the girl. Their attempts, as usual, failed today, though not for the reason they had erstwhile failed. Today, Hermione was absorbed on something other than her parents' deaths. She bid goodbye to her friends after an unfinished meal, and headed early for her next class.

Her thoughts reached a crescendo before her final class of the day, Advanced Potions, where she would come face to face with the object of her troubled musings. The question pestering her now was not why Malfoy had saved her, but why he had gone through so much trouble to make sure she would not feel a trace of pain. Why? Here was the son of the man who had destroyed her family and yet he had treated her with respect last night, if that was what it was. She had seen something in his eyes amongst the darkness, heard something in his voice underneath the stars, though she was uncertain whether it was concern or comfort. As Hermione entered the dungeon classroom that afternoon, she made up her mind. She had to talk to Malfoy.

Seated in her usual spot with Padma Patil, Hermione scanned the dark classroom for Malfoy, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. He was not seated with Crabbe and Goyle, which puzzled her. Neither was he near Pansy Parkinson nor Blaise Zabini. She finally saw him seated at the back of the room by himself. She had not noticed his drastic change in seating arrangements this year, and this only added confusion to her already disordered state of mind.

Malfoy caught her glance and stared at her with narrowed eyes until she turned away, inwardly berating her lack of surreptitious observation skills.

Soon Professor Snape made his appearance and barked instructions to concoct the day's potion. The next hour and half passed in silence with the students busy chopping, shredding, mixing, diluting, stirring clockwise and then counter-clockwise, sweating (with fear in some cases), until everyone had a viscous liquid in their cauldrons, most far off from the required colour of midnight blue.

Professor Snape then made his way around the classroom, stopping at certain tables to make his usual scathing comments and passing over others with a satisfied nod.

"You've succeeded in creating a potion that matches the colour of your thick head, Mr. Weasley. But your head isn't _midnight blue_, is it?"

"Did you throw up into the cauldron, Mr. Finnegan?"

"I thought you had exceeded my expectations of _worst concoction _of a potion last week. I was clearly wrong, as this pathetic mess deserves the award, Mr. Potter."

He finally reached Hermione's table. He passed over Padma's cauldron with a nod and looked into Hermione's cauldron. Wafting the odour of the potion towards his hooked nose, Professor Snape spoke.

"You've added lemongrass, though the instructions did not call for it."

Hermione gulped. "Well, I figured lemongrass would add longevity to the potion."

Professor Snape looked at Hermione. "Could you stay after class, Miss Granger? I'd like a word." As he stalked away, some Slytherins snickered while others 'oohed'. Hermione tried to maintain her composure and ignored their taunts.

Class ended and Harry and Ron quickly marched to Hermione's table.

"Bloody hell, Hermione! Tell him to bugger off! You know he's making you stay to take points off or something just as stupid," Ron immediately voiced, though making sure he was quiet enough to escape Professor Snape's ears.

"Hermione, just tell him you have things to do. Or better yet, just walk out of here," was Harry's advice.

The classroom was almost empty. Hermione looked at her friends and gave them a strained smile.

"Don't worry about me. I'm a big girl. I can handle myself." With those words, she turned and made her way to Professor Snape's desk, where he was sitting poring over essays.

She did not turn around to check if her friends had left; instead, she cleared her throat. Professor Snape spared her a glance and gestured at her to take the seat across from him. Hermione complied, feeling a tinge of anxiety rumbling in her stomach. He spent a minute skimming through the essay, his lips curling with obvious distaste, and scrawled a letter at the end of the parchment that Hermione guessed was a T. Laying his quill to rest, he pointed his ebony wand behind her, shutting the door instantly. Professor Snape finally looked up at Hermione, his face devoid of any hint to his thoughts.

"I'm pleased to see you did not follow Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley's charming advice," Professor Snape said, crossing his arms.

Hermione gave him a small smile. "They're just worried about me, that's all."

Professor Snape scanned her face. "Is there reason for them to worry so much? Are you not well, Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked down at her clasped hands on her lap. "Of course not, sir. I'm perfectly fine," she lied, knowing full well her professor was an accomplished spy trained to distinguish lies from truths.

"After this past summer's events, I can hardly imagine you are _perfectly fine_, Miss Granger," Professor Snape voiced.

Hermione stared at the older wizard's dark eyes, the only feature that divulged his true concern for her. She opened her mouth to respond, but her throat was constricting. She knew that she could not cry despite her every effort… her pain was beyond the terrain of mere tears.

The professor saved her from the trouble of speaking. "I know we settled to never again speak of the murders of your parents, but –" he paused, looking unsure of himself, as Hermione had jolted at his frank mention of her parents. He continued with an edge of discomfort to his tone. "But silence and concealment of pain do not bring closure, only further pain." The words _trust me, I know from experience_ hung between the two like suffocating fumes.

Hermione did not speak for awhile, staring at her lap. "I don't believe I thanked you for saving my life," she whispered.

Shock loomed in Professor Snape's unguarded eyes, before he quickly veiled them with a blink. "I only did what the Order commands – save those without peril to your own life."

With a grim smile, Hermione spoke. "I won't think less of you for showing a little humanity."

Again, shock gripped Professor Snape, though he managed to mask it. "I failed to save your parents. I was too late. You should hate me for that," he remarked bluntly.

"You weren't aware of Lucius Malfoy's plans… the fact that you arrived at the scene, putting your position as a spy at risk, to keep him from taking my life is enough for me, Professor," Hermione said defiantly.

"Don't make me out to be a damned martyr! To partake in killings or other affairs without the Dark Lord's knowledge or consent is a sure way to incite his fury. Just a reminder of that and the Dark Lord's recent displeasure with him was enough to keep Lucius Malfoy from touching you!" Professor Snape declared angrily. As his breathing eased, he added, "How do you know I wasn't aware of his plans? Just as you assumed Draco was in the knowing of his father's plans?"

It was Hermione's turn to be shocked. "He told you? About last night?"

"Draco only mentioned details… and I can promise you that he has no idea of Lucius' _activities_ last summer. Your accusation left him very disconcerted and angered, Miss Granger," he answered.

"I –" Hermione stammered, thoroughly abashed.

"Any explanation deserves to go to Draco," Professor Snape stated sharply.

Hermione nodded, an avalanche of questions burying her once again.

Professor Snape cleared his throat. "I wanted to speak with you regarding a matter entirely different from the topic we have trespassed. Have you heard of the Potions Master Damien Darke, Miss Granger?"

Immediately Hermione's eyes lit up. "Yes, sir. The creator of the Draught of the Living Dead!"

"Yes. Other than that infamous potion, Darke is little known. His name is almost impossible to find in Potions textbooks or history books. I am guessing your knowledge of him is also limited, Miss Granger?" Professor Snape questioned.

Hermione agreed. "After you asked Harry about the ingredients in Draught of the Living Dead in our first year, I expected it to be on our exam. So, I tried to find out more about it in the library, but only came across Darke's name once or twice. He was also mentioned in Advanced Potion-Making in our sixth year."

"It is unfortunate that the history books have disregarded such an extraordinary mind, but taking into account the age during which he lived, prejudice was common," Professor Snape sighed. At Hermione's inquiring look, he explained. "Darke was a Muggleborn. In the early eighteenth century, witches and wizards of that descent were cast off, let alone acclaimed for creating one of the greatest potions."

Hermione grew furious. "That is awful! Why don't people acknowledge him now? Why isn't he being written into our books now?"

"Barely anyone knows anything about him. I am perhaps the only living wizard who knows the most about Darke, considering I have researched and tracked his background extensively since my days as a youth. He caught my attention while I was completing my Potions Masters, and ever since then, I have scoured books and documents trying to piece together his life. And what I have uncovered is not enough to fill your traditional parchment.

"Which is exactly why I asked to speak with you. Darke left an unfinished potion before his death, which I have attempted to finish myself over these years… however, certain mysteries and glitches in his life have rendered my efforts quite difficult. I will not accept defeat, only help, and your affinity for potions would make you an adequate assistant. If you are willing, Miss Granger," Professor Snape finished.

Hermione was stunned. A plea for help wrapped around a covert compliment. "But, Professor, I don't think I'll be of much help. If you haven't been able to finish the potion, being a Potions Master yourself, I don't have the slightest of chances," she said sincerely, though her nerves were tingling with thrill at the thought of undertaking such a project.

"Sometimes trained minds cannot see what young minds can. I have also enlisted another student to help me – us, if you agree," he remarked.

Hermione was silent, swimming through a current of thoughts. This was the offer of a lifetime – to be the assistant of such a great Potions Master as Professor Snape, and to work alongside him trying to finish a potion once started by another great Potions Master, one who had received so little credit during his lifetime… Professor Snape was right. She did love potions. And not only did this project include creating a potion, but extensive research and detective work as well, both of which she loved. Yet… did she still love all of those things? Was her shattered mind up to those tasks she once basked in doing? Her lips spoke the words her mind had yet to agree upon.

"I agree. Of course, I'll help you, sir."

Professor Snape looked satisfied. "We'll have our first meeting in my office after classes on Friday. You may leave."

She stood up, and walked to her desk to gather her things. She then made her way to the door, but turned before walking out. Professor Snape had already begun reading another essay, his red quill poised in his hand.

"Who is the other student that will be helping you, Professor?" Hermione asked.

The professor glanced up. "Draco Malfoy."

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_A/N: Damien Darke is not from canon, but a character devised from my own imagination._

_Reviews, comments, and suggestions are most welcome!_


	4. Enigmas and Egregiousness

_A/N__: I'm terribly sorry I took this long to update. If I had time to spare, I assure you, all I would do is write. Blame managing good grades on top of earning a livelihood… I promise future updates won't be as sporadic as it has been so far. The story _will_ be finished – the plot and ending have already been mapped out._

_A thousand thanks to a most invaluable beta: Nalaniekeala._

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Enigmas and Egregiousness

"You weren't there, Severus. When the Graphorn lunged at her, she didn't even try to arm herself. It's almost as if she wanted the beast to hurt her."

"Do not be absurd. Shock can easily render a person motionless," Professor Snape replied calmly.

"We're talking about Granger here! I admit her reflexes are shaky, but she is awfully skilled at defense. She's Potter's damned cohort! She fought in the Ministry against Dolohov and managed to live!" Malfoy exasperatedly exclaimed.

Professor Snape smirked, raising an eyebrow in unison. "Did you just give Miss Granger a compliment, Draco?"

"Bugger off, Severus!" a frustrated Malfoy swore.

The older man's smirk deepened.

"What did she mean that night? What did Father do?" Malfoy asked, desperation tingeing his voice.

Professor Snape's smirk vanished, and he let out a weary sigh. "I haven't the slightest clue. I suggest asking Miss Granger yourself, if you are in dire need of such information."

Malfoy scowled. "You're lying. You know perfectly well what Father's up to."

The essay that he had been reading fell from his fingers, as Professor Snape gave Malfoy his undivided attention, complete with a dour countenance. "Contrary to what you may presume, your beloved _Father_ does not share his every move or thought with me."

"He says more to you than he ever does to me," Malfoy disclosed spitefully.

The professor stared at his young student thoughtfully. "Perhaps Lucius holds neither of us in his strictest confidence any longer."

Malfoy met his dark eyes. "But what does that mean for you, Severus? Has the Dark Lord lost trust in you? Are you in danger?"

"That information is between the Dark Lord and myself. It is not for a boy who has lost sleep over what a girl muttered in a state of obvious shock and nothing else," Professor Snape said, reverting his attention back to the mediocre, if not poorly written, essays.

"I'm not supposed to give a damn when someone calls me a murderer's son?" Malfoy demanded, his voice bordering on hysteria. "My own father doesn't speak to me. No one in Slytherin _looks_ at me, and the rest of the school is always prepared to share some dirty looks. Any day now the Dark Lord will summon me. Am I supposed to pretend that it doesn't affect me? Act the continual apathetic bastard? _Damn it, Severus_!"

His roaring words lashed against the stone walls of the office, leaving behind a distant echo and a thick oppressiveness amidst the various jars. Breathing furiously, Malfoy leaned against a shelf holding glass containers of colourful potions. His heavy, hollow panting was the only sound in the room.

After quiet contemplation, Professor Snape opened his mouth to speak but a timid knock on the door interrupted him.

"Enter."

Slowly the door opened, revealing a bushy-haired girl. Hermione took in her current scene, from the dim light of the candles to the two silent occupants of the room. The room's stifling discomfort did not escape her; it was palpable in both Professor Snape's forced air of nonchalance and Malfoy's fierce glare.

"Take a seat, Miss Granger." Professor Snape pointed to one of the two chairs across his desk. As Malfoy stood leaning rigidly against the rickety shelf, Hermione passed him, taking care to avoid looking at him, and made her way to Professor Snape's desk.

"Mr. Malfoy, you can sit –" Professor Snape started, but was cut off by the fuming boy.

"I'm fine right here, sir." The words were brusque.

"Very well," Professor Snape said in return, irritation deepening his voice. "I have called you both here, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger," he continued with a nod to Hermione, "to discuss a project I hope the two of you can assist me in completing."

He methodically recapped his ink bottle before turning his attention to his students, both immersed in their own tumultuous thoughts. His silky voice was the douse that awakened them.

"Damien Darke is one of the best Potion Masters to have ever lived. A name oblivious to most of society, not only for his Muggle heritage, but also for an entirely different reason. Darke was a secretive wizard by nature, living a life of peculiar mysteries shrouded by utter privacy. In short, a fascinating specimen of eccentric talent." Hermione noted the spark that had ignited in Professor Snape's eyes, a spark so akin to hers when discussing books or house elf rights. The spark enthralled her as she leaned closer to the desk.

He carried on, quietly noting one of his students' absorbed attention. "He was born in the early 1700s to peasants, a fate that spelled poverty and privations for the newborn. However, a letter in 1721 changed his life forever. Darke was accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, an institution his parents had never heard of. Yet they readily sent him away as it would reduce the meals they were to provide by a third. Thus began the honing of a great mind. By the end of the decade, Darke had become a professor at the school, earning his Potions Mastery whilst teaching. Yes, Miss Granger?" he added upon sighting the puzzled wrinkling of her eyebrows.

"It's just that – well – Darke was a Muggle-born… and to give him a teaching position, especially during that period of absolute intolerance, is quite hard to believe. Almost astonishing," Hermione said tentatively.

"Darke was an astonishing wizard. He did not work with potions; he _weaved_ them out of thin air, as a writer weaves a tale. He had created the Draught of the Living Dead before his twentieth birthday." This fact incited a small gasp from Hermione and a muffled snort from the back of the room. "If he was a Pureblood, he would have been offered innumerable positions in the Ministry and St. Mungo's."

Professor Snape continued without hesitation. "Darke taught at Hogwarts for five years. After 1733, he disappeared. No one knew where he had gone or why. Then again, he did not speak to anyone. He was never heard of again."

A silence, curious and hesitant, clung to the room. The rusty wheels in Hermione's head slowly began to creak. "Sir… do you think he was murdered? I mean, the year suggests something of that sort to occur – especially to someone of Darke's background."

"The year 1733… almost as indelible at 1981, isn't it?" he murmured.

"The August Massacres," Malfoy piped up.

Professor Snape nodded his head while blinking his eyes to banish all unrelated thoughts. "Yes, the murder of thousands of Muggle-borns and Squibs in the wizarding world. A month of unbridled bloodshed and bleak fear."

"Thousands of deaths at the hands of_ Egbert the Egregious_," Hermione announced with unadulterated disgust.

"Yes, a wizard almost as bad, according to legend, as the Dark Lord himself. The topic of Egbert the Egregious leads me back to Darke, however. In the early 1730s, Egbert was rising to unsurpassed power. He had subordinates and followers in the Ministry; in fact, the headmaster of Hogwarts at the time was a staunch ally of Egbert."

"How would Darke have kept his job as Potions professor if the headmaster himself was a Pureblood supremacist and Egbert's follower?" Hermione questioned.

"Isn't it obvious?" Malfoy said. "Why would they let go of the greatest Potions Master of the time, when they could exploit his talents for their own good?"

"Exactly," Professor Snape affirmed. "Darke was coerced into working for Egbert. He made countless potions at Egbert's demand. The last thing the Egbert would have wished for was Darke's death. In fact, Egbert assigned him the duty of creating a potion that would remain unfinished. A potion I have been fighting to finish for over fifteen years. A potion that I hope to finish with your assistance, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger."

"A potion assigned by Egbert the Egregious? It must be a deathly potion. Poison of some horrific kind." Malfoy concluded. Hermione caught revulsion in his tone.

She shook her head in disagreement. "No, such a potion would have been a waste of Darke's talent. And Egbert was smarter than that. He must have sought something different. Something more volatile and dangerous." She looked at Professor Snape to gauge his thoughts.

A long finger rested against his lips as he narrowed his eyes. "Yes, Egbert was intelligent enough to not squander Darke's creativity and abilities. He _desired_," Professor Snape stressed the word, "something entirely different than poison or other means of destruction." He rose from his seat and left the room without a word.

Hermione turned to watch him leave in confusion. "Are we supposed to follow him?" The question escaped her lips before she realised to whom she had addressed it to.

"No," was Malfoy's terse reply.

_At least it's better than outright silence_, Hermione thought. She examined her nails, unpolished and short, as she fought the urge to say something. An apology, gratitude, questions – they all wrestled on the tip of her tongue, but reservations had them fixed on a leash.

Before her uncertainty had a chance to crumble, Professor Snape stalked back into the room, cradling a thin book. He resumed his seat, placing the book on the desk. Bound in dull green cloth with roughened edges, the book was no more than a thin sheaf of parchments. A worn Hogwarts insignia marked one corner.

"I am certain the two of you have heard of the Mirror of Erised," Professor Snape stated more than asked.

With widened eyes, Hermione nodded.

"It is allegedly both an intoxicating and dangerous object which reveals one's deepest desires. For centuries wizards and witches alike have pursued the Mirror of Erised in hungry hopes of catching a forbidden glimpse of what they truly desire. Frankly speaking, most of us do not know what it is we desire. The Mirror not only exposes our heart's desire but allows us to quench our thirst through simulated images. A machine which warps the minds of people is, oddly, our greatest desire.

"No, Egbert the Egregious did not seek the Mirror of Erised. He was after something similar, but distinctly different." Professor Snape reached for the sage green book and opened the cover. Hermione leaned in.

"I think you would want to take a look at this, Mr. Malfoy. This," he began, "is the only remaining manuscript of Damien Darke that I have found, written by the wizard himself."

Hermione sucked in a breath as her eyes devoured the faded cursive script. She felt Malfoy take the seat beside her as Professor Snape turned the old book towards them. The pages were yellowed and crisp; the writing was fine and meticulous.

"How did you get this, sir?" Hermione breathed as she raced through the script, words such as 'saffron' and 'damnable students' catching her restless eyes.

"Every Potions master at Hogwarts is granted the same private chambers in the dungeons. The chambers I occupy are the same ones Darke inhabited over two hundred sixty years ago. This journal," Professor Snape waved at the old book that had Hermione and Malfoy ensnared in its mysteries, "was an accidental find while cleaning out my private library. The library is small and houses books left by many a past Potions professor. It is difficult to tell that it once belonged to Damien Darke; the initials on the front endpaper are the giveaway."

Hermione flipped to the front page. Two intertwined calligraphic D's marked the top corner.

"The text also hints at Darke's ownership of the journal. If I had not already been introduced to Darke's work, these clues would have been futile and the journal disregarded.

"As you can see by merely skimming through the pages that Darke did not write down his personal feelings, apart from the casual quip against his students, in the journal, lest it fall into the wrong hands. It contains potion ingredients and instructions for the most basic, household potions, such as the headache potion. One list of ingredients, however, does not match any basic, household, or even recognisable potion." He held out his hand and Hermione returned the journal with equally anticipatory and disappointed feelings.

Professor Snape deftly turned to a page and returned the journal to his eager students. Hermione and Malfoy peered over the journal. They were both oblivious to their sheer closeness to each other until an errant curl brushed against Malfoy's jaw and he moved away as if scalded.

"Read the ingredients and tell me what you notice," Professor Snape ordered, frowning over the quick interaction between the two teenagers.

Malfoy leaned closer to the desk, though taking conscientious measure to avoid touching Hermione. Hermione bit her lower lip as she read the page.

_The Darke-Love Potion – for E.t.E_

_Vanilla – shred the petals_

_Hibiscus – boil in distilled water before adding into cauldron_

_Damiana – boil and place in cauldron at the same time as the former ingredient_

_Rowan – chop until it becomes coarse powder_

_Belladonna – crush with flat side of gold dagger_

She perused the words carefully, muttering each ingredient under her breath. Malfoy answered first.

"They're all a plant of some sort," he shrugged.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "Vanilla, hibiscus, and damiana all represent desire," she asserted slowly.

Professor Snape gave her a slight nod. "Yes. They also possess and provide prophetical or visionary qualities," he explained further. "What about rowan?"

"Power," Malfoy replied.

Hermione repeated the final ingredient aloud. "_Belladonna_… it doesn't fit with the other ingredients, sir." She looked inquisitively at her professor.

"And why is that, Miss Granger?" Professor Snape's eyes glittered.

"Well, it symbolises danger, deception, and _death_," Hermione answered, puzzled.

"Turn the page, Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy did as he was told, and Hermione examined the centuries-old note jotted on the pale page.

_Darke-Love Potion – window to one's deepest desire; shows desire in its exact location; ordered__ by E.t.E_

Hermione gasped audibly. "This is impossible!" she declared with blunt incredulity, before realising her vehement outburst was directed at her Potions professor and not at Harry and Ron, and flushed scarlet accordingly.

Professor Snape looked simply amused. "Why, Miss Granger, I had no idea _impossible_ was part of your vernacular."

A knot twisted in Hermione's chest as a thought abounded in her weak senses. _Nothing was impossible… until my parents were murdered right before my eyes._ Suddenly, the passion that had sparked in the last half-hour was extinguished as easily as a breath to a flame. A wave of nausea swept over her; she struggled to withhold the cry lodged in her throat.

Being the skilful spy that he was, Professor Snape instantly discerned her dramatic shift in emotions.

"I believe it is time to end the meeting. I do not want Professor Dumbledore to believe I have constrained students from attending dinner. We shall meet next week in this room right after classes," he instructed in his silky voice before rising from the desk.

Hermione rose with him, clenching her fists to keep from trembling feverishly. She muttered some form of leave-taking which she later could neither remember nor interpret, and hastened from the shadowy room.

After retrieving Darke's journal, Professor Snape walked to the door. "I'll see you at dinner, Draco." With those words, he left.

The candlelight flickered as the younger Slytherin sat there wordlessly, wondering what in Circe's name was going on.

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_A/N: I hope I have not confused anyone with my alternating use of "Potions __**m**__aster" and "Potions __**M**__aster." Canonically, a Potions __**m**__aster is an instructor or professor of the subject potions. Fanonically, a Potions __**M**__aster is someone who has completed a Potions Mastery (basically, a Master of the subject potions). Both Snape and Darke are Potion __**M**__asters (and Potion __**m**__asters). Whew!_


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